


skeletons

by Anonymous



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: 2009, Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Metaverse (Persona 5), Alternate Universe - No Phantom Thieves of Hearts (Persona 5), Angst, Cutting, Death Threats, Depression, Drug Addiction, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Lowercase, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Recovery, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 22:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21483559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: the year is 2009.goro akechi, a lonely individual is on the verge of committing suicide, until he meets someone who changes his view on life forever.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40
Collections: Anonymous





	skeletons

**Author's Note:**

> i've played around with this story in my head for quite sometime now before actually writing it down. hopefully, this doesn't do as bad as expected. 
> 
> however, this does contain several graphic elements, so i suggest clicking away if any of the topics listed in the tags trigger you. feel free to leave as much criticism as you'd like, it'd be most helpful for me.

27/11/09

i am seven when it first happens. 

i am innocent and young, yet he pays no mind to it. i feel the force and weight of his body being pressed against mine as he pins my wrists down, forcing a small portion of himself into me. there is nothing i can do, so i let it happen, shattering my innocence. shattering every bit of self-respect i have left in me. some things are simply beyond your control. 

i feel pain.

i am now seventeen.

i am now seventeen and i still find myself left speechless whenever he shoves himself into me, mocking me, shattering me over and over again. why do i lose my ability to speak when i have a voice- when i am capable? 

i live alone. i am often alone until he decides he wants to have his moments with me.

i am homeschooled. 

the trauma became too much for me to handle, rendering me unstable and unable to put myself in a traditional school with other students. he often asks whether i am lonely, being that there is no one my age i can speak with. but, _ no_, i am perfectly fine on my own. assignment after assignment, they all seem to pile up now. i can’t seem to remember when i had gotten this neglectful. 

i can’t bring myself to care either.

i’ve realised long ago that i’ve lost all potential that i’ve once had. i am intelligent, but academically i never put my best foot forward. i can’t imagine what it must be like having parents pushing you until you’ve finally peaked in school. mother is gone, killed herself only a few years after having me. she used to tell me what a good son i was to her. and then she did it. i didn’t understand what had happened at first, being that i was so young. but there were people- social workers who told me that things would be alright. police officers scanning her cold body. suicide- they said. she’d driven a kitchen blade into her heart.

sometimes i wonder what that must’ve felt like. i can only imagine how painful her death was, yet alone plunging a blade into your own body. i wonder if she’d done it because of me.

i often blame myself for her death. perhaps if i had not been born she would still be here. 

but do i deserve to be here? never.

i hate the taste of cigarettes, yet i feel the need to fill my lungs with such toxic breaths. nicotine stains my fingers, and i sigh leaning against the rail of the balcony. i wonder how painful it would be if i were to take my leave now, my grip loosening on the rail as i fall to my death. 

_ no. _

not yet at least. 

i tap out my cigarette, feeling sick once again. smoking causes cancer, does it not? seventeen and yet i have a dangerous addiction. i wonder how mother would feel about this.

my back aches and i decide to have a brief moment of self care. making my way over to the bathroom, rolling my sleeves up as i begin to scrub my bathtub in preparation for a bath. i _ scrub, _ and _ scrub, _ and _ scrub, _cleansing the tub of its filth.

the water is scorching hot, turning my skin red. it burns, and i feel as if my skin is beginning to melt, nearly falling off my body. i want to scream. today is friday, and a sudden realisation hits me. in a few hours, i will not be alone. the thought of his body being pressed against mine is enough to make me sick. i often contemplate running away somewhere far from here, but it wouldn’t take him long to hunt me down. i am his prey. 

29/11/09

it is a sunday afternoon, and i can feel myself breaking once again. 

he is on top of me, panting. i can feel the warmth of his breath against my neck, and it makes me want to _ die. _

he doesn’t hesitate, pulling me up by my hair, viciously forcing his way into my body. i feel pain, and let out a soft whimper as he calls me a whore and digs his nails into my skin. beg, he tells me to beg. i beg and he flips me over, his heavy body being pressed against my fragile one. i am almost afraid he’ll crush me. 

_ you’re just like your mother. _

_ pathetic little fucker. _

_ whore. _

_ faggot. _

i can no longer breathe. it hurts too much to do so. i feel tears sliding from my eyes, the situation is so fucked up yet i simply allow it to happen. 

_ weak. _

i am so utterly weak. 

i feel him cum and he pins my wrists down preventing my escape. “please,” i beg, “don’t do this.” ignoring my pleads, he continues on, and i feel so lost and lifeless. my hair sticks to my forehead and neck, and i realise that i am worth nothing. i am only a ragdoll, tossed around as if i am _ nothing. _i can feel the stabbing pain spreading across my lower body. and then he stops. 

he begins to laugh softly, tracing patterns across my pale and fragile skin. “do you love me?” 

_ no. _

“yes.”

he smiles, unable to contain his joy as he gives me a kiss on the top of my head. “worry not, i’ll be back within a few days.” i can still feel the bits he’s left inside of me as he slips into his work clothes and i cover myself with the bedsheet. the front door slams and i sigh, eyes glaring up at the ceiling as my left arm dangles from the mattress. several minutes pass before i dress myself. what was the point in living? i can feel a sharp pain in my chest and i wonder why i haven’t chugged an entire bottle of pills yet. but an idea hits me. why haven’t i thought of this before? 

in the bathroom it is where i find myself knocking over cosmetics reaching for the disposable razor which sits on the upper corner of the cabinet. i dig my nails into the plastic, tearing the razor apart as the blades clatter to the floor. i pick one up, rolling it between my fingers shortly before pressing it against my left wrist. the metal is cold and foreign to my skin, but i close my eyes as i flick it across without hesitation. a ruby liquid drips down my forearm. 

_ relief. _

i choke back a sob. i _ needed _ this. i needed some kind of relief, and this… this was it. i sigh and smear the crimson liquid on my arm. it is drying, yet still warm to the touch. i remember once reading an article about emotionally disturbed individuals who turn to this as a ‘coping mechanism.’

_ pathetic. _

as i wash away the now dried and caked blood from my arm, i realise what little self-control i have. or has it gotten to an unbearable point? after all, i’m _ only _ seventeen.

01/12/09

it is now the first of december. 

i realise what little time there is left in the year, and it saddens me. this saddens me because i have let an entire year go to waste, spending very little time doing anything productive. 

i am wasteful.

i have not eaten in two days. my skin is almost translucent, and my ribs and hips become visible. the sight of my own body fills me with disgust. to add to this, there are bruises scattered along my back and waist. some small, some large. i flip my left forearm over, scanning my wrist. what is this? a dramatic call for help?

_ pitiful. _

_ attention-seeking. _

i wonder what he will think the next time we have our session and he sees my wrist. i wish to do it once again, but it had only been two days since i had last let myself loose. i sigh, attempting to push the urges to the back of my head. there are more important things to worry about. my weight _ clearly _ being one of them. this doesn’t look healthy, and the refrigerator seems so cold and empty holding no contents in it. i decide that now is the best time to buy new groceries.

i step outside and the cold, december wind hits me. i consider taking a taxi for a brief moment, but the nearest store isn’t too far away, and i could probably use the walk. 

the grocery store is fairly new, having been open for the past three years. it is decently sized, carrying what i need. i make sure my trip is a fast one, taking only what i find necessary, leaving behind desserts and such. i try to maintain a healthy diet, cutting greasy and fattening food from my plate. _ healthy, _yet here i am, bones sticking out; refrigerator empty. i select self-checkout, paying for my essentials. 

i am taken back once again as the bitter wind hits my face. at this rate, i’m to catch a cold if i spend more time out than needed. however, across the street happens to be a small art supply store. why have i never noticed this before? i’d never taken an interest in art, but an idea hits me. 

inside the store comes a variety of different items. one of which captures my eye. 

yes, this was _ exactly _ what i was looking for.

in its package comes an x-acto blade. i set aside my groceries. as i reach for it, a sales clerk makes his way over to me. “excuse me sir, are you in need of assistance?” _ yes. yes, i need assistance. please save me from myself. _

“oh! no thank you, i’m okay.” 

i am cold and tired by the time i arrive home. my fridge is now filled with contents which should last me until the following week. i snatch up the small bag laying down on the table, removing the small package hidden within the plastic. the x-acto is small, yet very sharp. i realise that i could be dead if i press down hard enough next time i have another cutting session. this is so goddamn pathetic, i can’t believe i’ve managed to get myself into such a sickening state. 

a few years ago i would never, ever, think of doing such a thing. god, i was so fucking cocky. really, all i am is a scared little cunt with no self-control. 

reconsidering my actions is a waste of time. 

i roll my left sleeve up once again, pressing the blade against my skin on an area at least an inch away from my wrist.

_ oh, _ _ what a fucking pity. _

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, comments + kudos are greatly appreciated.


End file.
